Intertwined
by S Gold
Summary: Sometimes, all it takes is a new intern to bring out old feelings... Hodgela, Booth & Bones, Zack & OC. - No longer on hiatus! R&R please. New 4,000 word chapter up!
1. Prologue

A/N: I was inspired to write this after finishing all seasons of Bones in one and a half weeks, and realizing that if I didn't find a creative outlet for my Bones obsession, I would probably implode. This takes place after Zack comes back from the asylum (because Bones without Zack is just depressing), and after Angela makes out with (and possibly has sex with?) Wendell. Reviews are not only encouraged, but also very encouraging.

***

"Who is that?" Angela whispered.

Hodgins said nothing. The two of them were congregated around the main platform, watching Brennan and Booth talk to someone. Brennan handed her a card that looked suspiciously like the cards they all carried with them.

"She's getting a card. That means she's an intern," Hodgins said, sounding shocked.

"But she looks…like…Sweets' age!"

"Maybe Parker isn't Booth's only kid," Hodgins suggested.

Angela raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, what's your suggestion?"

Before she could reply, Booth, Brennan, and the mystery intern turned and starting walking towards the platform. Angela and Hodgins spun around and frantically pretended that they were actually working. Angela stumbled into the nearest computer and began inputting random numbers, and Hodgins stared at a completely blank slide through the first microscope he could get his hands on.

He heard a card being swiped, and the trademark beep of the security system.

"Everyone," Dr. Brennan said, and then paused when nothing happened. "Dr. Hodgins? Angela?"

They stood up, shooting each other slightly frantic glances. "Yes, Dr. Brennan?" Angela said.

"It is my pleasure to intro--"

"Cut the happy chatter, Bones, alright? We have a case to get to," Booth interrupted.

Brennan stared at him in disbelief. "I'm perfectly capable of handling this situation myself!"

"Everyone? This is Diana, our new intern," Booth said unabashedly. He stared at everyone for a moment. "Angela, show her around. And now," he said. He put one hand on Brennan and steered her out of the Medico-Legal lab, "We go solve a murder."

With Booth and Brennan gone, there was no buffer preventing an awkward silence from descending over the lab.

"Um," Diana said, and looked at Angela. "I'm going to assume you're Angela?"

Angela, in turn, glanced nervously at Hodgins. "Go!" he mouthed.

She smiled. _Socializing_. _I can do this._

"Hi," she said. Diana looked relieved that finally, someone was talking. "I'm Angela. Over there is Dr. Jack Hodgins, but we call him Hodgins. He's the bug and slime guy around here."

Hodgins looked up from his microscope. "I'm an entomologist. And a conspiracy theorist," he added, smirking.

"Make sure you don't ask him anything about the government. He's got half the conspiracy textbooks in the country scanned into his brain," Angela advised.

Diana laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

"And now," Angela said, walking towards her office. "This is my office. I do facial reconstructions using--" she tapped a button on her laptop, and the Angelator sprung to life, outputting a holographic model of a skull, "—this."

Diana looked impressed. "That's really…that's pretty cool."

She followed Angela as she left her office and began walking down the hall. "That's Brennan's office", she said, pointing to the next room. "There's Hodgins' lab area over there. And there's Zack."

Zack rounded the corner, staring at a sheet of paper in his hands. He looked completely engrossed, and didn't acknowledge Angela's greeting. "Limestone…Bird excrement…Unidentified particulates…" he muttered, "No signs of struggle."

"Zack!" Angela said. She snapped two fingers in front of his face. "Hey, Mr. King of the Lab!"

He looked up, slightly dazed, and then noticed Diana. Immediately, he flushed, unable to come up with a proper greeting. He scanned his brains for the proper introductory greeting in these situations. "Hi," he managed.

Angela rolled her eyes. "This is Dr. Zack Addy. He's a genius, but completely socially inept. Don't take anything he says to heart, unless you can't understand it. Then he's probably right."

He blinked a few times. "My knowledge of colloquial speech patterns suggests that I have just been insulted."

Diana laughed, and held out her hand. "I'm Diana."

Zack wasn't sure why she was laughing, but shook it anyways. "Are you our new intern?"

"That would be me."

"Well it's nice to meet you. I really should get going – I have unidentified particulates from the soil in which the skeleton from the most recent case was resting."

Angela winced. "Bye, Zack."

"Well, he seems nice," Diana said after he'd left.

"Zack? Yeah, he's really nice. Completely awkward, but good heart. Anyways, you've already met Dr. Brennan and Booth. They won't admit it, but they're totally in love with each other."

Diana laughed. "Really? When Dr. Brennan was handing me my card they were non-stop bickering. It was actually sort of amusing."

"That's Brennan and Booth for you. Anyways, there are a couple other interns around here." She paused. "Daisy, who is…indescribable. And Fisher, who's slightly morbid. And Wendell, who--" she tried to come up with a proper adjective to describe the guy she'd made out with two days ago. "—is really sweet," she finished.

"And you guys manage to all get along?"

Angela laughed. "Well, we manage to not turn each other into skeletons, so that's something. Oh, and Sweets. He's the psychologist around here. Mostly we all try to avoid him, but he's not a bad guy."

"I'm minoring in psychology," Diana said. "It's really quite fascinating."

"Don't let Dr. Brennan hear you say that. She thinks psychology is – and I quote – a "soft science". Although personally I think that's just because she doesn't like when people can read her."

"Not many people do."

"So," Angela said, biting her lip. "Exactly…how…old are you? Not to be rude or anything," she added quickly.

Diana shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I get that all the time, apparently I look like a toddler. I'm twenty-one." She smirked. "Go legal drinking age."

***

Booth pulled up at the crime scene, a small alley behind a rundown bar. "Alright," he said. He and Bones got out of the car. "Body was discovered by a young man and his fiancée last night. They'd gone behind the bar to--" he smirked – "_fornicate_, although why anyone would want to do such a thing _here_ is beyond me."

He flashed his FBI badge and stepped into the alley. The skeleton came into view immediately – half decomposed, half still covered in rotting flesh. He tried to remember why he'd ever signed up for this job, and then tried to avoid thoughts of the woman crouching down next to him.

Bones took off her sunglasses and began examining the body in front of them. Immediately, words seemed to come out of nowhere and spill out of her mouth.

"Male. Late teens to early twenties. It looks like he's been here for about a week, but we'll have to get the body to Hodgins to make sure…Cause of death is still unknown, but marks on the radius and ulna are consistent with defensive wounds. We'll need to get this to the Jeffersonian," she said to Booth, and he nodded. No matter how many times he took Bones out in the field, her ability to turn a few bones into a wealth of knowledge never ceased to amaze him.

"Alright, guys," he called. "We need this shipped over to the lab as soon as possible, where Bones and her team of squints'll do their magic."

Bones looked confused. "It's not magic. Magic is a superstitious effect not explainable by logic. Forensic anthropology, on the other hand, is defined by logic. They're two completely different things, Booth. You should know that by now."

He smiled at the familiar comments, and, as usual, paid absolutely no heed to them. Instead, he just smiled at his partner.

"Congratulations, Bones," he said. "We've got a case."

***

A/N: How was it? Still trying to decide whether or not I should continue this. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

S


	2. Breaking Habits

She'd always been told that she was "smart". And as a kid, she'd believed anyone who told her that – after all, while the rest of her second grade class struggled through double digit subtraction, she was learning her multiplication tables. While her fifth grade class learned about the Sun, she was devouring reading material on the impact of Neptune on Uranus' orbit. While her eighth grade class did linear equations, she bought as many books on trigonometry as she could and self-taught herself that. And when she finally headed off to Yale at 16 years old, she was determined to excel – and she did, barely stopping to party, drink, or make random escapades. And so when Diana Bellediere was accepted as an intern into _the _Jeffersonian Institute, headed by none other than Dr. Temperance Brennan, well, she was expecting to do just fine.

But these people were a completely different story.

She was pretty sure that no one in that lab had an IQ below 140 – genius level – which made her feel a _tad_ out of her league. It was just that with Hodgins next to her reciting the alloys of various elements and how it affected bonding ability, and Brennan glancing down at a skull and immediately spewing facts, and Angela working computers like they were her pets – well, being able to do trigonometry in the eighth grade hardly seemed like that much of an achievement anymore. And _Zack_ – all he ever seemed to be doing was staring through a microscope, raising his head long enough only to call out a series of numbers that didn't seem to make sense to anyone but Hodgins. The more she was at the Jeffersonian, the more she felt like she'd infiltrated some top secret society of geniuses. Which, if she asked Hodgins, would probably end up being true.

In fact, the only person who seemed to have an ounce of normalcy in them was Booth – but then again, he walked around the lab in a flaming orange tie and pink socks, so she wasn't sure that was a good call either.

And the cases? Depressing. Working at a crime lab was interesting, alright – and quite mortifying at other times. The latest case was on a 19 year old whose skull had been bashed in – but only _after_ both of his shins were fractured.

Cheery.

"Diana," Brennan called, snapping her out of her reverie. "I need you to help Zack figure out what the cause of death and murder weapon was."

She raised an eyebrow. Usually, Brennan insisted on doing all of the classifying – all of _everything_, in fact – herself. Her disbelief seemed to be validated, as Booth strolled around the corner, looking all too happy to be investigating a murder.

"Alright, Bones," he said. "Let's go question some teenagers." He looked far, _far _too excited with the prospect.

Brennan took off her gloves and walked out of the lab area. "Let me know if you guys find anything important!" she called, only to have both shoulders taken by Booth and steered out the door.

Diana rolled her eyes. She'd been working there for three days, and was already accustomed to the incessant bickering of Booth and Brennan – incessant, and yet somehow charming. Angela called it _frisson; _and Diana called it oodles of sexual tension. Either way, it was there.

She walked to the area where Zack was standing. He was staring at the skeleton with his brows furrowed, as if crinkling his face and staring with enough intensity would make the answer somehow pop out of the bones. Diana wouldn't have been surprised if the answer had – Zack had the intelligence and dedication of – of – of, well, Zack.

"Hi," she said, trying to get his attention.

He glanced up briefly, and then resumed staring at the skeleton. "Hello."

She bit her lip. "Need any help?"

He looked up again and _sighed_, as if being offered help was a terrible insult to his mental ability. She wondered whether she should've just asked Hodgins to help Zack instead.

"I suppose," he said, "It couldn't hurt. If you could examine the right side of the body – starting with the ilium, as I've already examined everything further down, I'm sure it could double the efficiency. Although…" he said. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her. "Your efficiency has yet to be proven."

She tried to figure out whether to be insulted or not. "I – you – well, we'll find out, won't we?" she said, smiling brightly.

He stared at her a second longer before reverting to the skeleton. Diana grabbed a pair of gloves, and followed suit, staring at the skeleton. "Both the parietal and the temporal parts of the right side of the skull have been hit, and the curved impact suggests by something blunt, like a club. Although it would have to be a very small club…" she said.

Zack walked over to her side of the skeleton, picking up the skull and turning it over. "Staining on the inside of the skull suggests that the hit caused head trauma – internal bleeding. The blood would have pooled inside the victim's skull, trapped inside the bone. That would be cause of death."

She smiled. _How's that for efficiency? _

As if reading her mind, Zack turned to look at her – and for a second, she could have sworn that he almost _smiled_. "80 percent," he said.

Eighty percent? Was she only 4/5 right about the damage? "What?"

"You're about eighty percent my maximum efficiency. Which is quite satisfactory," he said – as if what he was saying couldn't be interpreted the _least _bit insultingly. "I'll go tell Hodgins to look for particulates on the skull that could help identify the murder weapon."

He walked off with the skull, leaving Diana with an unharmed skeleton and two broken shins. _Fantastic_, she thought. _If I get bored, I'll just talk to our headless friend over here. He's great company._

***

"Oh my God," Booth said, as he pulled into the parking lot. "The victim – Joseph Mohston – went to Clark High School."

"And?" Brennan said. They both got out of the car and walked towards the school. "Clark High School is the largest public school in the D.C. area. It's quite probable that a random person on the streets of D.C. would attend."

"Exactly," Booth said. "Meaning that the victim probably had a small circle of friends – big public school means that you can blend in easily. If someone goes missing, hardly anyone notices – their friends assume it's something small, like sickness, the teachers are too overworked to even notice."

"So what you're saying…is that we have to find the victim's 'social circle'."

Booth walked into the school and straight to the principal's office. The principal was a balding man – late 60s, Brennan estimated – who looked exhausted. He was on the phone, mumbling about budget cuts and the art department.

"Exactly," Booth said, tapping impatiently on the counter. The principal looked up, annoyed, and continued talking.

"Well how are we supposed to do that?"

He smiled. "A mass gathering of teenagers, packed into one room. Lunch. Hello?" he said to the principal, who continued ignoring them. Booth pulled out his badge. "FBI, here, so I suggest you get off the phone and start talking to my partner and me here."

The principal finally hung up the phone. He stood up. "I'm Pete Haldings. What can I do for you?"

"I need all the records for a student who goes here – his name is Joseph Mohston. And also, his lunch period."

"Why?" Haldings asked. He typed something into his computer, and the printer on his desk whizzed to life. "Did he get into trouble?"

Brennan cringed, knowing what was coming.

"You could say that," Booth said. "He's dead. Murdered, actually."

Haldings paled. "Oh my – oh my God." He handed them a packet of papers. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah – give us his lunch period."

Haldings nodded vigorously. "Of course, of – Joseph Mohston. Second lunch. 11:50 to 12:15. I – I can't believe this. If you'll excuse me," he said, shaking his head, and left the office.

"Alright," Booth said. "We got what we need. We just have to be back here in one hour, and we'll find out exactly who our victim here was."

"You know, society would be a lot better if schools were smaller and better organized. It's a wonder how anyone who goes to this school learns – the hallways are congested, the bathrooms are disgusting, the teachers are probably unqualified-"

Booth cut her off. "Bones, I went to a school like this, and I turned out fine, didn't I?"

"Yes, well you are one person. For every person like you there are probably ten who go on to become criminals, or homeless, or live a difficult life." Right on cue, a group of older boys ran by the office, slamming another one into the window. The boy, unperturbed, got right back up and continued running down the hall.

"And how," Brennan continued, "Is a single principal supposed to keep this many students safe? It's prepos--"

"Okay, Bones," Booth said, steering her out of the office. "Let's go get lunch, and then we'll come back and complain to the principal about health hazards, alright?"

"Really?" Bones said.

"I – no! Alright, Bones, listen – people go here because they like it here, or because they have no other options. Either way, you aren't going to persuade many people to leave. It's life. It's how things are. Not everyone was as fortunate as you."

Brennan sighed and climbed into the car. "I really should go back to the lab. Who knows how Dr. Bellediere and Zack are doing, for all I know--"

"—For all you know, they could've identified the murder weapon, cause of death, and already caught the murderer. So let's get lunch."

***

"It's sickening," Hodgins deadpanned. "Were Angela and _I_ ever that obnoxious?"

Sweets shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's always worse to watch people publicly display affection when you're – perhaps – feeling a little jealous?"

Hodgins scoffed. "Jealous? No. They can keep each other."

"I didn't say you were jealous of either one of them, Dr. Hodgins. I think you're jealous of what they have – you want someone with whom you can act that way towards as well. When humans feel lonely, it's natural to automatically see every couple out there and wish to take their place."

"I'm pathetic. I'm a good looking guy. I'm good in bed. And I'm sitting here talking to a ten year old psychologist about by nonexistent love life."

"I'm _twenty-four_," Sweets retorted. "You're aggression is perfectly understandable. It's normal to lash out at other people who are in a rela--"

Hodgins got up off the couch. "This is ridiculous. I have particulates to identify."

"Dr. Hodgins, you can't just bury your feelings under your work. It's unhealthy. Eventually, you're going to have to let your emotions out."

"Sounds good. I'll let you know when I feel like doing that."

Hodgins walked out of Sweets' office.

Sweets sighed. _I wonder when people are going to start actually scheduling appointments instead of just barging in here…_

***

It was, of course, just his luck to walk out of Sweets' office…and run right into Angela and Wendell. Holding hands. Dragging each other out of the building, inevitably off to spend their lunch break doing something equally cliché and romantic.

He walked onto the platform, too upset to notice that Diana was standing there, poring over a bone. He grabbed the nearest slide, but his eyes continued to follow Angela and Wendell as they stopped right in front of the exit. Wendell leaned towards her and she leaned back – and he swore, he was going to puke, right there – and then the two of them were –

Interrupted by Cam. She glared at the two of them and rolled her eyes. "People. Security cameras." She looked pointedly at Angela, and then back at Wendell. "Enough of the workplace wooing!"

Hodgins couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of victory. _Exactly. Enough of the workplace wooing, already!_

He turned around to place the slide under the microscope, and looked at his hands. Apparently, he really _had _been aggravated, because the slide was now in two pieces. He sighed, and placed it aside.

"Let me guess: relationship gone bad?"

Hodgins spun around. Diana was standing there, looking sympathetic. He wondered whether or not he should've killed himself from embarrassment, or dump Diana in a body bag for being intuitive. "I – what?"

"You were staring at them in fury, and then broke a lens. It was pretty impressive," she said, smiling a bit.

He narrowed his eyes. "That really isn't any of your business, Diana. I've already got Sweets to tell me things I don't want to know; I think you've got better things to be doing than analyzing my interpersonal relationships. Like catching a murderer."

Her eyebrows shot up, but she turned back to her work. Hodgins could've sworn he heard something along the lines of: "Alright, relationship gone_ really_ bad…"

He closed his eyes. "Diana?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you."

She smiled at him wryly. "I'm sorry for butting in. Psychologist tendencies kicking in."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. You're a psychologist too?!"

"Minoring in it. Why? You're not in denial of having feelings too, are you?" she teased.

He sighed. "Don't tell Brennan."

"Oh, she already knows. I think she's trying to ignore that part of me, though. I'm pretty sure she can't figure out how someone could be in anthropology _and _psychology." She sighed. "I'm pretty sure everyone's just in a yelling-at-people mood today."

"Why? Did Booth snap at you? Don't worry about it – he's just--"

"It wasn't Booth. It was Zack."

For a minute, he felt the strangest desire to laugh – no doubt brought about by the incessant Angela and Wendell thoughts. "Zack? Yelled at you? What'd you do, tell him to stop using big words?"

She cringed. "Well he didn't really _yell_. He just…I don't know. I mean, it wasn't even – like – that big a deal."

Hodgins grinned. "What'd he say?"

She glared at him. "He told me I was inefficient."

"Somehow I can't see Zack saying that."

"Well, he said I was only 80% as efficient as he was. Which was a little insulting, especially since I had just identified the cause of death."

Hodgins smiled sympathetically at her. "Don't worry about it. No offense – and I mean this in a really nice way – but Zack's probably right. The kid's inhuman. You get used to it, after a while – he's blunt, insensitive, has no idea how to act around people…he really wasn't trying to insult you."

She sighed. "I know. I'm just…I'm just used to, you know, being …" She screwed up her face, trying to come up with a way to phrase it that didn't make her seem like arrogant.

"Smart," Hodgins finished for her. "We all are. But hey – the fact that you're here at all is something. I mean, come on, who wouldn't want to spend all day in a lab filled with murder, hatred, and death?"

She smiled. "Welcome to the Jeffersonian."

***

A/N: Whew! That was a pretty long chapter. Anyways, I think I may have made Diana a little unlikeable in this chapter, but let me know what you guys think. Review!


	3. A Soft Science

"Bones, come on. Just try the pie."

"Booth, I've told you! I don't like pie, nor do I have any intention of ordering another dessert. I'm perfectly fine with my Crème brûlée!"

"I'm telling you, Bones, this pie is amazing! Come on, just try it."

She glared at him, but conceded - reaching over and taking a small piece with her spoon. "It's alright," she finally said.

Booth looked incredulous. "Alright?! Just alright?! There's gotta be something wrong with your taste buds, Bones--"

"Well, anthropologically speaking," she started to say. Booth groaned and put his head into his hands. _This_ was why he could never have a conversation with her without it turning into an _anthropological_ discussion. "—Anthropologically speaking, it's impossible for me to have 'wrong' taste buds, Booth. Taste buds are merely--"

Her lecture – which was being completely ignored by the intended recipient – was interrupted as Booth's watch started beeping. He glanced at it and shut it off. "Whatever, Bones. Come on, we gotta get back to the high school."

***

"What, exactly, are we looking for?" Diana asked. She'd been having a perfectly nice (if completely irrelevant) chat with Angela when Cam had interrupted them ("While I appreciate tips for curling hair as much as anything other girl," she said, glaring at them lightheartedly, "I would really appreciate if Diana went and helped Zack"). Of course, there wasn't really a correct way to deny your boss, and so off Diana had gone, only to end up standing next to Zack while he stared at the skeleton in that slightly laser-esque way of his.

Feeling awkward.

"We're trying to find anything out of the ordinary about the skeleton while Hodgins identifies the particulates we found embedded in the skull," Zack said, not bothering to look at her. Diana wondered if anyone had ever mentioned to him that you were supposed to make eye contact with the people you were talking to. "You can leave, if you'd like."

"It's – it's fine," Diana said. She wondered whether he actually _wanted _her to leave.

"I've already done a thorough examination of the skeleton. I think Cam wants you here so the two of us can--" he frowned a little bit, looking for the correct word – "'bond.'"

Diana couldn't help but feel like bonding with Zack Addy was a bit like bonding with a Google search engine. "Well that was nice of her," she said.

Zack finally looked up from the skeleton. He took off his gloves. "There's nothing else I haven't already identified. I'm comfortable with making a claim of 98% positive."

Diana nodded.

There was a brief pause.

"Your eyes change colors," Zack said. It wasn't a come-on – the way he said it, it didn't even seem like a compliment – just a fact. Diana tried to come up with a proper reply, but before she could, Zack had started talking again. "Between green and blue. Both recessive traits, which is highly unusual. Especially combined with your dark brown hair color. It's a rare combination which would require genetic coding of two double-recessive phenotypes."

It wasn't really new – comments like that were being thrown around while she was just an infant: "Diana, you have such pretty eyes! And such dark hair…" "You have your mother's eyes, I see." "What an interesting combination." And, of course, from the pervert who'd tried to hit on her from her senior year in high school: "Your eyes remind me of the ocean. D'you wanna see my house?" The only person who'd never found Diana interesting, of course, was herself. Sure, she had relatively pretty eyes – but her hair was dark and straight and never did anything interesting (and absolutely _refused _to curl.) She was thin – or, as her mother had put it, "petite," and absolutely lacking in curves.

She sighed unconsciously. Zack looked alarmed. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong. Everybody tells me that I'm not good at bonding."

She laughed a bit, if only because of his flustered charm. After all, it wasn't every day when you had your facial features scientifically analyzed over the skeleton of a murder weapon. "It's alright," she said. "That was actually very nice of you."

Zack froze. Evidently, his conversational ability did not extend to "You're welcome." Instead, he started rambling. Again. "It wasn't a compliment," he started to say, and then stopped. "It wasn't an insult, either," he added quickly. "I was just stating a fact. Your eyes change colors between green and blue, which are both recessive traits, which--"

Diana put her hand on his elbow. "I got it," she said, and smiled a little. "Recessive genes. Lots of them."

Zack nodded slowly.

There was another awkward pause.

"So…" she said. She tried to come up with a topic that _Zack_ would enjoy talking about – something simple, something that didn't require many social skills. "How long have you been working at the Jeffersonian?"

He looked tremendously relieved. "Three years as of one month, three weeks and a day from now," he recited. "I started on June twenty-fourth."

She nodded. Three days ago, she would've been surprised – and slightly weirded out – that Zack knew the _exact _date on which he had started working at the Jeffersonian. Now? She wasn't surprised at all. In fact, the fact that Zack knew the exact date seemed like a given – the sky is blue. Orlando Bloom is hot. Zack Addy started work at the Jeffersonian on June twenty-fourth.

"Do you like it here?" she asked, genuinely curious. If she was going to spend the rest of the year identifying murder victims, she wanted it to be at least a _little _fun. The gratification on its own was immense – there was, in her opinion, nothing better than giving someone back what little of their dignity and identity they had left.

Zack paused for a moment, and then looked at her. "I didn't have many friends as a child." He seemed to think for a moment – and she swore, she _almost_ saw a flicker of emotion cross his eyes. "The Jeffersonian is like a home to me."

She didn't know why she did it. She didn't know where it came from, or what gave her idea – or anything, really. It was something she did out of instinct – something that came from the heart: something people did to other people to make them feel better, regardless of the person, regardless of how well they knew the other person. It was human nature at its finest – the instinct to _try_ and make other people happier.

She stepped forward and hugged him. Because Zack – Zack was smart and Zack was practically a computer, but she knew that somewhere down there, Zack needed some humanity surrounding him. It wasn't a romantic hug, but it was enough to make him freeze up, unsure of what to do or how to respond in this unfamiliar situation. He froze – and for a second, she realized that it probably hadn't been a good idea; after all – Zack was hardly an everyday person.

And then he loosened. She wouldn't say he hugged her back, but he wasn't tense anymore and she didn't get the feeling that he was going to bolt for the door.

And she smiled.

"Er –Ms. Bellediere? May I have a moment?"

And then it was over. They broke apart – rather, she broke apart, and she swore she saw a flash of horror cross into his eyes. She spun around only to see Sweets standing there, looking much too young and much too awkward. It was as if everyone in the lab was socially impaired.

She stepped off the platform smoothly. "Yeah – yeah, of course."

Sweets smiled. "If you could just step into my office."

"Well, I would. Except…I'm not sure where that is," she said, offering him a wry smile.

He chuckled. "Yeah," he said. He walked through a hall with her trailing behind him, and opened a door. She stepped inside.

_Well_, she thought, _at least it doesn't look like a psychiatric ward for the clinically insane_. And it wasn't – for all intents and purposes, it was a normal room. The walls weren't painted a single color, the room wasn't barren, there weren't _bars_ over the windows. But it _was_ undoubtedly a psychologist's office. The couches were set up for discussion, the files far too organized to belong to anyone of any other profession.

She sat down on a couch. "What's up?" she said.

He sat across from her. "You aren't going to like this," he said.

She sighed. "What'd I do?"

"No – you – you didn't do anything. No one likes this part."

"Alright. What's happening?"

"It's part of our policy," he said, and she could see him reverting to psychologist mode, a blank slate crossing his face, neutrality taking over. "To do a mental evaluation of every new employee or intern that works here."

"You're kidding me," she said. She wasn't sure whether to laugh hysterically or cry. "You're checking to make sure I'm not, like, a sociopath?"

"No – not at--"

"I'm minoring in psychology," she interrupted.

He blinked twice. "Well. Yeah. Pretty much. I mean--" he added quickly. "I'm sure you aren't a sociopath. But I was looking at your file, and…"

The rest of the sentence was tuned out. Of course he'd been looking at her file. I mean, he worked for the FBI. Did she really think he wouldn't be allowed access to her file?

"…anything you want to discuss?"

She broke eye contact and stared into her hands. "No, not really. Not at all, actually. I'm – I'm pretty much good."

"Diana--" he said, and she could tell that she was talking to him now, not some blank-faced psychologist who tried to figure out her mental sanity: "—why'd you take this job?"

She shrugged. "Why'd you take yours?"

"Rough childhood," he said. He shrugged it off.

She smiled at him. "Yeah?"

"You can relate, I presume?"

She shrugged. "Somewhat. I guess--" she said, and she paused, wondering whether or not she should continue or not. He was a psychologist, yes, but he was also a person, and a friend, and not a bad guy. She bit her lip. "I guess …I mean, it's human nature to want to feel needed. To want to feel like someone needs you and loves you – it's why love is so, well, romanticized. It's why friendship is so valuable. It's because everyone wants to feel needed and valued. And I guess, well," she said, giving Sweets a dry look, "you already know this, but I guess--" she scoffed – "I didn't have the most…healthy childhood. And I guess this is my way of trying to attain that."

"You think that you took up a position identifying murder victims and analyzing the human mind to make up for your lack of a childhood?"

"No – I – I mean--" she sighed. "Sort of. I mean, I guess both of those things – giving murder victims a semblance of dignity back, and helping people sort out who they are – I guess it sort of…it makes me feel important and… and needed, I guess. And I know – I know that sounds really, really horrible and subversive and all, but…I don't know. Isn't that human nature?"

Sweets smiled. "One last question, Diana."

She grinned, reveling in the fact that she could joke around again. "Oh boy. Should I – should I run before you have a chance to ask it?"

"I'd really prefer you didn't."

"Shoot."

"Why aren't you majoring in psychology?"

She sighed. "I chose clinical psychology. And I can't…I couldn't handle actually being in a clinic, you know? I almost empathized _too _much; I'd go home and I'd sit down and think about what I'd done and who I'd talked to, and I'd just sort of break down. I mean, murder victim…that's just as bad. But you feel like you get somewhere, you know – when you solve a case? With the clinically insane…it's not as easy, and for me, it wasn't as gratifying. And I think it really took a toll on me. It depressed me, I guess."

He nodded. "It's my job to pry, you know."

She smiled. "I know. I don't blame you for it, I've had to do the same thing. But hey, has anyone punched you yet?"

He looked horrified. "No – I can't say anyone has."

"Then you're a success," she said.

They laughed.

"Okay," Sweets said, once they'd gotten each other under control. "One last thing."

She rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what you said about the last question. What is it?"

"What's going on between you and Zack?"

Which, of course, made her burst out into laughter all over again – the concept that _her and Zack_ had anything could have anything going on between them – "Well that's ridiculous," she said. "There is _nothing_ going on between me and Zack."

Sweets shot her a look. "You were _hugging_," he said, as if he'd caught her making out with some guy in a public restroom.

"Yes. We were hugging. I'd love to hug you too, if you'd like," she said.

"And Zack _relaxed_. He _untensed. _I think you underestimate the weight of that, Diana."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think he just realized that I wasn't going to let go until he relaxed."

Sweets shook his head. "I think he's mortified. In fact, he's probably talking to Angela right now about what to do."

***

This was not something he ever wanted to remember again.

High school – the cliques, the sports, the sweat, the hormones, the never-ending wave of pubescent teens passing by in the hall in their self-elected groups, the way school seemed to turn into a place for everything _but_ learning – and that included things that weren't exactly on the legal side of the law.

And yet there he was. Standing in front of a cafeteria filled to the brim with people, unable to get the attention of half of the students – even _with _a microphone. He could probably arrest _half _of the students for doing weed on school property, another quarter of them for being freaking obnoxious. Brennan stood next to him looking slightly intimidated – she'd gone to a privileged private school and worked in an organized forensics lab – public school was _not _her forte.

He cleared his throat into the microphone.

No one noticed.

"Excuse me," he tried, knowing it wouldn't work.

It didn't.

"Alright," he said, volume going up tenfold, "Listen up. FBI." He took out his badge and flashed it at the students just long enough for them to see the "**FBI**" logo.

And it was silent.

"Everyone listening? Good. Now, I need you to stand up if you know a – a Joseph Mohston. And know him relatively _well_."

The entire cafeteria seemed to look at each other – trying to figure out what was happening. Finally, a group of people – four or five – stood up.

"Great," he said. "You guys, come with me. Everyone else, go back to doing whatever you were doing."

He set the microphone down onto the nearest table, and then walked with Bonestowards the five – Mohston's friends, he thought to himself, though she would probably prefer to call them _the victim's acquaintances_, or something overly distant like that.

The first thing he noticed about them was that they looked grim. One of them – the only girl in the group – had long, dark hair, impossibly straight. Her eyes were heavily made up, something that contrasted with the preppy-carelessly-put-together look of her clothes. The other four were guys, huddled together than they would admit. They looked confused, glancing at each other nervously every five seconds.

Boothcouldn't help but notice that on four of the trays in front of them, there were slices of pie. "See that, Bones_? _Pie."

She frowned at him. "Well, it's ridiculous to compare me to a--"

He cut her off and turned his attention to the five people in front of them instead. "Follow me," he said roughly. If there was one thing he'd learned about dealing with teenagers, it was that you didn't get anywhere by being courteous – _especially _in murder case. And that was exactly what this was.

A murder case.

***

Sweets was right.

He _hated_ – absolutely despised to admit it, but Sweets was right. Completely right. He was jealous and, well, it was absolutely ridiculous. And what's worse that he didn't even care that Angela was dating one of his friends; what he cared about was the fact that Angela was dating _at all_.

He needed to get back out there.

And there he was.

Sitting in a bar – something he couldn't remember doing since, well, him and Angela got together. Pretending he was just like everyone else there; that he _wasn't_ filthy rich and _didn't_ work a prestigious crime lab, and, well, wasn't "grieving", like Sweets said.

He probably looked too pissed off for anyone to approach. But he really _was_ too pissed off to care – bars were loud, and noisy, and these five guys behind him were obnoxiously throwing around a football that kept missing his head by a couple inches. He tried to push back the urge to just catch the football and throw it out the goddamn window, but then he'd probably get kicked out of the place, and he'd be back to square one.

Of course, the whole self-control thing could only extend so far, and when the football actually _hit him_, he lost it. He picked the thing off the ground, spun around, opened his mouth – and stopped.

"Hi," she said. "Are you okay? You look kind of upset."

The first thing he thought of was how much her eyes resembled the ocean – but not the tranquil blue ocean that was so prominently featured in every romance novel, but rather a wild, foaming ocean: more green than blue, a mixture of cyan and sea green.

The next thing he noticed was that she was tall. Taller than him, actually, not that that was saying much, but a quick glance down told him that she was wearing four inch heels and was probably actually shorter than him.

The other thing his quick glance down told him was that it wasn't just her eyes that were stunning.

"Hi," he said.

***

A/N: I know, I know. That was an _extremely_ Zack/Diana-centric chapter, but the scene sort of wrote and wrote and wrote itself. Next chapter will have more of Booth/Bones and Hodgins, I promise. And nothing says "write faster" than reviews :). Please?


	4. Perception

"That," she said, "Was most _definitely_ not supposed to happen."

He groaned and shoved his head into a pillow, preferring to ignore her comment. "My head hurts like a bitch."

"Well, how much did you drink last night?" She sighed. "It must've been a pretty big amount for this to have happened."

"Look, Sophie," he said.

"Well," she interrupted. She flipped over onto her side to look him in the eyes. "At least we learned each others' names before going to bed. Nice place, by the way," she said, looking around.

He cringed. _I wonder what she'd say if she saw my _real _place, _he thought, somewhat amused – and more than somewhat mortified – at the thought. He may have been drunk out of his mind last night, but he'd at least had the sense to take Sophie to his "other" apartment. The one that wasn't a Victorian 10 bedroom apartment with a set of gates and a garage that was _separate_ from the house, for God's sake. "Thanks. So anyways, this _should not_ have happened," he repeated.

She closed her eyes. "I know."

"And…it was definitely because of the amount of alcohol involved."

"I know."

"And this can never happen again."

She opened her eyes and looked him at him – really _looked_ at him, and once again he felt like he was falling into the ocean; unable to control anything she did or anything he did. She offered him a piece of herself: a small smile – hopeful, but not expectant. Genuine, but not exuberant. Happy, but with the slightest tinges of sadness. And when she spoke, he knew that he didn't control what was happening next, that the same spiral out of control had begun again. "Why not?"

***

"Do any of you have idea where Joseph would have been on last Thursday?" Booth asked. The five kids in front of him stared at him, completely unresponsive.

Five seconds passed.

"Alright," he said. "Why don't you guys start by telling me where _you guys_ were last Thursday."

He got a reaction. The girl – Jeannie, her name was, scoffed at him – all while maintaining an iron death glare that's effectiveness was hindered by the fact that she looked like she'd been crying. "Why?" she said, ice in her voice. "You think one of us murdered Joseph?"

He leaned forward. "Well," he said. "Give me a reason not to."

"I was at home. _Everyone_ was at home. And Joseph? Joseph was probably at art club. He stayed late every Thursday. Call my parents. Call their parents. But believe me," she said coldly, "Not one of us here would do _anything_ to hurt him. And I can't believe you could even think that we did."

He stared at her, unflinching. "It's nothing personal," he said. "Just routine procedure."

"Yeah, well," she said. "It's nothing personal. But you're an asshole."

And she walked out of the room.

***

He stared at her.

He couldn't even say anything to that – just stared at her with a combination of skepticism and disbelief in his eyes.

She broke the gaze and bit her lip, and for a moment, she looked uncertain; the first time he'd never seen her less than completely self-assured. "Or, you know," she said, "Or not."

"Um, you know, I'm just – I'm just gonna call in sick to work. 'Cause, um, yeah. That'd…that'd probably – that'd probably be good. Calling into work, I mean. It'd be good."

She nodded. "Yeah – yeah of course. I'll be here. Still. 'Cause I can't jump out the win – yeah, just…go." She gave him a tiny smile and then winced.

He walked into the hallway trying not to burst out into laughter – or into tears. _That,_ he thought to himself, _was spectacularly awkward._

He grabbed the phone and punched in Brennan's number almost subconsciously, and then almost laughed at the fact that he knew his boss' number better than anyone else's.

"Hodgins?" she said, not even bothering to say hi. "Are you going to be in today?"

"I'll probably be in later," he said. "I'm not feeling so good."

Which, for all intents and purposes, was completely true. He really _didn't_ feel good. And there was no need for Brennan to know that he'd gone out last night and completely obliterated his brain, only to end up in bed with Sophie.

"Oh," Brennan said. "Well that's okay. But try to get here soon. We need you to run some tests on particulates. Booth is in a terrible mood," she added. "A suspect walked out of the interrogation room."

He was actually somewhat surprised – the suspect must've had guts to do that. And Booth -- "And he didn't arrest her?"

"He couldn't. He didn't actually have anything to ask her, and her alibi checked out."

"Well, tell Booth that I'd be pissed too."

"I don't know what that--"

"Nevermind. I have to go, so I'll see if I can come in later."

"Okay. Bye, Hodgins," she said, and then hung up.

Brennan, through all the shit that'd happened lately, still managed to be Brennan.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself. And still, even with the deep breath he took, even with the pep talk he gave himself, when he walked back into the room, he still wasn't ready.

She looked up at him from the bed. She was now wearing her shirt again (he wasn't sure whether this was good or bad), and was sitting up, back propped on the headboard. "See?" she said, and somehow managed to smile. "Didn't run away."

He cringed. "You might – you might want to hold that thought. You know, keep your options open."

She raised an eyebrow. "Escaped convict?"

He smiled. "No, not quite."

"Gang banger?"

"Not that, either. Believe me, Sophie, you won't guess it."

She sighed. "Alright, what's the catch here?"

He sighed. Even with all the potential girlfriends he'd had, even with all the morning-after speeches he'd given, telling people what he did for a living never actually got easier. "I'm an entomologist. And a mineralogist, and a palynologist, but mostly an entomologist."

She stared blankly. "And those big words are bad things."

"I'm not done. I work at the Jeffersonian."

Something in her eyes sparked, and he got ready for the impending storm. "Holy _shit_," she said. "I slept with a genius? What the hell were you doing at that bar?"

If it weren't for the fact that _no, _she didn't get it, he would've laughed. "Sophie – no, you don't get it. I work with dead bodies. Murder victims. And bugs. And slime. And other disgusting things. In a _crime lab_, which is probably on the list of Top 10 Most Morbid Places to Work. This is a _bad _thing."

And she was back to staring blankly. "Okay," she said. "So."

"So," he repeated.

"You work at a crime lab – which is actually not a bad job, if you ask me."

"Yes."

"You identify something involving bugs and slime and catch murderers."

"Well, that's more of Booth's thing, but generally, yes."

She disregarded his comment. "You have an IQ of over 140."

"Yes, but if you think that's high, you should talk to Zack."

She disregarded this as well. "You're great in bed."

"I can't – alright, yes."

"I like you."

"Yes?"

"Yes," she repeated, smiling again. "I do."

He didn't believe it. It wasn't even that he _couldn't_ believe it, his brain hadn't even crossed into the reality threshold yet – literally, he _didn't_ believe it. "You like me? Because from last night, I think it's more like you like my--"

She winced. "Let's just – let's just cut that off right there, alright? Listen, this doesn't have to be, you know, _serious_. I just…want to see what happens, you know?"

"See where it goes," he repeated.

"See where it goes. Maybe even go out again. Have coffee. Have dinner." She cocked her head at him and grinned. "Have sex."

"Alright, well I can't promise that the first two will go well, but from the last two," he said suggestively, and he was back to normal: back to cracking dirty jokes, back to being shameless, back to being Jack Hodgins, the bug and slime guy who lied about having hangovers and lied about his job and lied about his financial status. "Alright," he said again, and she smiled – really _smiled_, as if she was a four year old who'd just gotten a pony.

"Alright, well, I actually have to get to work," she said. "D'you mind giving me a ride home?"

"Sure," he said, and then bit his lip. "You're going … you're going to have to get dressed before you go to work, right?"

"Well, actually, clothes are pretty much optional where I work, so I'm good."

He stared at her.

"That was a joke, Jack. It's funny. Ha…ha." At the continued silence, she shook her head and started speaking again. "No, I actually work at a school. I'm a physics teacher."

"The public school?" he said, thinking of Joseph Mohston and how screwed he was going to be if Booth found out that he'd had sex with Joseph's physics teacher.

"No," she said. He breathed a sigh of relief. "God, no. I would never be able to teach public school. No, I teach at Bale's Academy? It's a little out of town, actually. I can just call a taxi to get home if you want, you don' t actually have to--"

He cut her off. "No, it's fine. Come on, let's go."

She didn't move. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to get dressed. And I know we had sex, but…I'd like…to get_ dressed_."

"Oh," he said. He shook his head. "Right, of course. I'll just be – I'll just be in the other room."

"Yeah."

***

"Where the _hell_ is Hodgins when you actually need him?" Booth practically yelled.

"He's sick," Brennan replied. "He might be in later."

"Well, we don't need him later! We need him now!"

"Jeez, Booth, calm down. I know that girl walked out on you, but you were accusing her of betraying her friend. That's something teenagers take very seriously, apparently. Loyalty. Even though I don't understand why, because they aren't going to see half of their friends past high school again."

Angela walked in. "Guys, I finished the simulation of Joseph's death."

They walked silently to her office, all lost in their own thoughts. Angela hated cases like this: teenagers, with so much left to do in the world, and so much left to see. Teenagers had yet to fall in love, yet to see the world, yet to watch a sunset and think of all they'd been through. And yet here was a teenager who'd seen the worst of the worst: murder.

She walked up to her computer and pushed the "play" button, sickened before the scene even flashed to life.

"Joseph Mohston," she said, fighting the lump that was threatening to rise in her throat, "Was hit over the head by something slightly rounded, but very blunt, by someone around the same height or a little taller than him."

Booth sighed. "It can't be any of his friends; they're all relatively short. Another student. It's gotta be another student."

"Booth, you can't jump to conclusions like that," Brennan said. "It's irrational."

Angela sighed. "Guys, really, can you argue outside? I'm not really in a mood to make jokes about how this is all hiding the fact that you're obsessed with each other."

That made them leave pretty quickly.

***

"Nice of you to join us," Diana said the moment he walked into the lab.

Hodgins smirked, and then winced, as a hammer tapped at the inside of his skull. "Good to know you missed me."

Diana didn't notice. "I missed you? Try Booth missed you. I guess he _really_ wants those particulates analyzed. Although it may have to do with the fact that--"

"He got his FBI agent ass kicked by a high school girl? Yeah. That may have something to do with it."

Diana grinned. "Are you feeling better? Because I swear to God, if you get me sick, I will _not_ be happy," she said.

Hodgins rolled his eyes and stepped onto the platform gingerly, trying to ignore the continued pounding in his head.

"Are you okay?" she said, looking concerned.

He put a hand onto his head. _I need an ice pack_, he thought. "Yeah. Of course."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Wait a minute. You aren't sick, you're hungover!"

He wondered how the hell she could possibly know that. "Don't be ridiculous, Diana, I'm _fine_. Just a little out of – _ow_!"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Diana had snapped right next to his ear. Loudly. Louder than he thought was possible. Painfully loud.

"Yeah. Hungover," she said, matter-of-factly. "But don't worry, I won't tell if you tell me what _really_ happened last night," she said. Her eyes twinkled wickedly, and he wished he had stayed home. "Oh, hi Zack."

Zack walked onto the platform looking oddly pleased with himself. "Hello, Diana. Hi Hodgins. Are you feeling better? Dr. Brennan said you weren't feeling good." His smile faded. "You should wait at least 24 hours after a fever fades to return to work. It's standard procedure."

Hodgins glared at him. "Yeah, well Booth was going to have my head. And I," he said, grabbing a pair of gloves, "Will take having a head and sick friends over having healthy friends and no head any day."

Diana rolled her eyes. "I take my 'welcome back' back, by the way," she said. She grabbed Zack's sleeve and pulled him off of the platform, and Hodgins couldn't help but notice that the slightly smug expression returned to his face. "Come on, Zack," she said, rolling her eyes light-heartedly, "Let's go find someone who _won't _contaminate us."

"Hodgins once contaminated the entire lab," Hodgins heard Zack say. "On Christmas Eve. We had to spend Christmas inside the lab, all because he was drinking eggnog."

He started to laugh – and then stopped, wondering whether or not Zack had told Diana about Gormagon yet. From the sight of the two of them, he'd have to guess no. And what Diana would say when she _did _find out – because she would eventually, was not something he could laugh at.

***

"So," Hodgins said. Booth and Brennan stared at him expectantly. "I identified the particles on the skull, and it turns out, they're a highly degraded hydrous aluminium phyllosilicate mineral group."

Booth turned to Brennan. "Translation…"

"Clay," Hodgins said. "It's clay. I'm working on identifying a brand, but that'll probably take a while. The problem is, how did he get _clay_ in his hair? There's nothing in DC that would have clay beds. Nothing."

"Art class," Booth said, standing up. "Joseph Mohston was in an art class. An extra art class."

He grinned. "C'mon, Bones. I hope you were a good artist as a kid, because we've got a class to attend."

***

**REVIEW RESPONSES**:

Thanks for all the reviews, guys!

_Zack + Hodgins Angst = Happy reader. And happy reader gives reviews. And sometimes even favorites the story._

Hodgins angst? How about hungover Hodgins? ;) [Thanks for the fave, by the way. :)]

_Well, this review will literally say 'write faster!' Great job with this! I actually don't despise Diana, and normally I can't stand OCs. The characters are all completely IC. Great job!_

Thanks! Zack was pretty hard to keep IC, but just because he's…so…Zack.

_Hodgins should totally get back out there. I am all for that. You go boy! LOL_

Oh, he's definitely back out there. ;)

_I love this fanfic!!__  
__But I thought Diana's eyes were green blue?_

Yeah, Diana's change colors (or, as Zack put it, has a lot of recessive genes.) And Sophie's…well she has green-ish eyes. I really like, for some reason, green and blue eyes. (Especially Hodgins. Hodgins has gorgeous eyes, but now I'm going all fan-girl on you, aren't I?)

And thanks to NCISaddict77 and DreamsOfFlying, too.

So anyways, please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. :]


	5. Jealousy & Justice

Whoa. This took _forever_ to get up, I know, but I've had midterms (ugh) and the SAT (double ugh) and haven't had time to write D:. But anyways, here's chapter five. Review, review please! Also, here's a response to an incredibly clever reader. The other responses'll be after the chapter. :)

S

"_A couple things I'm wondering about though.__  
__1.) It says that this is set after Zack joins Gormagon ("He started to laugh – and then stopped, wondering whether or not Zack had told Diana about Gormagon yet") so wouldn't Diana notice something's wrong with his hands? It seemed like his injuries were to extensive not to have permanent affects.__  
__2.) Does Diana's arrival mean that the other's (Wendell, Clark, Nigel, Fischer, Daisy, etc.) aren't coming back? I don't mind if they do or don't, I'm just curious." _– TiggerFace

You're completely right, and I'll admit that I _completely_ overlooked the hands thing. I'll address that this chapter.

I'll probably put Wendell in because of the whole Angela/Wendell thing (he's already in chapter 2/3, I think). Not sure about the other ones, though.

***

It was, undoubtedly, an art room.

The walls were plastered with paintings – dreamy landscapes of sunrises, sunsets, an open field with a river rushing through. An expansive plain of flowers adorned the window, as if the scenery outside was really that of a national park, as opposed to the dry parking lot of the school building. A forest, darkened by the leafy canopy above, but with spiderwebs of light filtering through. A waterfall, frozen in time. On the door were portraits of people who had walked in and out of the room for so many years, finding a creative outlet each time and leaving – perhaps – one artwork happier, one burden lessened.

It was a room that Angela would love; one in which not every painting was _magical_ and not every portrait was _realistic_, but in which all the artworks had the stamps of painstaking time and detail spent on it, hours poring over a paintbrush or a sketch pad. The room screamed of rising before dawn with a hot mug of coffee and a palette and finding a nice, green patch of grass to sit on. And then, all that there was left to do was see – really _see_ – and paint.

The art teacher was a tall woman named Ms. Keanes, who screamed of authority, but of well-deserved authority. She greeted them quietly, somberly. "This is about Joseph, isn't it?" she said.

Booth looked at her wordlessly, and that was her answer.

"He was so talented," she murmured. "So full of passion."

Brennan hung back. She wasn't used to dealing with others' emotions; she would never understand how Booth managed to reassure them. "I'm very sorry for your lose," he said, looking her in the eyes. "We have some questions we'd like to ask you."

She nodded slowly. "Yes. Yes, of course. What do you need to know?"

"Was Joseph a member of your after school art club?"

She nodded. "Of course. He was one of the best young artists I've ever had the honor of teaching. In fact, he was about to enter into a nationwide art contest. I'd say he had a pretty good chance of winning, too."

"Was anyone else in the art club also entering into this competition?"

"Yes. One other student. Jeannie Whitaker. She and Joseph have – had – completely different styles. He was realistic, presented a stark image of the world. She drew everything in dreamscape, and constantly used mist and fog. Both were beautiful, beautiful artists," she said. She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

Booth furrowed his brow. _Jeannie Whitaker? The brat who walked out on me?_ "Were Jeannie and Joseph…competitive with each other? With their artwork?"

She chuckled. "Not at all. They helped each other with art, critiqued each other's works. They were very close. I can barely imagine what Jeannie's going through right now."

_Very close, _Booth thought, dreaming up murder scenarios.

"One last question, Ms. Keanes. What are you currently working on in art club?"

She smiled. "Pottery. The students are making their own clay jars and pots. Right now, they're stored in the cabinet. Would you like to take a look at them?"

"That would be great."

She led them to a cabinet and unlocked it. Inside were rows and rows of ceramic pots; jars; plates. Bones took out her magic blood detector (as Booth liked to call it).

He cleared his throat. "Could you please tell us which one was Jeannie Whitaker's?"

She looked confused. "Why, of course." She pushed aside a few jars to reveal one – smaller than the rest, but also rounder and more precisely made (you could tell). "It's that one."

Bones dabbed a small amount on the jar.

One moment passed – two seconds – and then a faint, eerie blue glow seemed to flood over the entire jar.

***

"It doesn't make sense," Zack said, brow furrowed. "Jeannie Whitaker is neither tall nor strong enough to have hit the victim with the clay jar with such force."

Diana shrugged. "Maybe she stood on a chair?"

"That _would_ support the crime of passion theory."

He looked her up and down for a moment – and if it wasn't_ Zack_ she was talking to, she would've thought he was actually _checking her out_. But it _was_ Zack, and he wasn't doing anything of the sort – did he even know what that meant? – and he said, "Could you stand on this chair and hit me with something?"

She blinked. "What?"

"To recreate the event," he continued, like it was nothing strange at all to ask your friend to whack you over the head with a possible murder weapon.

"Al – alright then. Uh--" she stood on the chair uncertainly. "Hand me the model of the clay jar."

He handed it front of her, and then stood in front of her. "Okay. Go."

She flinched. "What if I – what if I hurt you?"

"That's the point."

She cringed and brought the jar down slowly (far too slowly for a 'crime of passion'). Zack brought his hands up as if to defend himself. She blinked, cringed – and dropped the jar.

Zack thought for a moment. He hadn't seemed to have noticed the loud 'clang' after the jar hit the floor. Cam, Diana realized, was _not_ going to be happy once she found out that she'd broke their fake murder weapon.

"No," Zack said.

"I – what?"

"No. It wouldn't work – Jeannie Whitaker was not the murderer."

She blinked. "That's not possible. Joseph Mohston's blood was on her jar!"

"_If_ she did kill him, it wasn't in the way you suggested, meaning she'd have to find another way to gain a height advantage."

Diana sighed. "Awesome. Dead end."

"Maybe," Zack continued, "If I ask Dr. Brennan to examine the--"

"Can I ask you something?"

Zack stared at her blankly. "I'm sure you can."

She sighed. "_May_ I ask you something?"

"Of course," Zack replied.

She took a deep breath. Sure, it wasn't her place to pry, but it wasn't as if it was something discreet, and besides, it wasn't like Zack answered every question anyone threw his way. "What happened to your hands?"

It wasn't anything _serious_. It wasn't as if he only had four fingers, or his arm was deformed, or anything like that. It was just that – well, there were scars all over his hands. Scars that – while she tried to put aside her curiousity and tried to tell herself that it was nothing strange – she really couldn't let go of.

He bit his lip, and for a moment, actually looked nervous.

"Zack?" she said. She was vaguely aware of heat rushing to her cheeks. "You don't have to answer that, if you don't want to."

"There was an accident."

"An accident," she repeated.

"An explosion in the lab."

"I see."

"I miscalculated the amount of catalyst to put into a solution. As a result, the explosion was three times bigger than anticipated. My hands were in a rather unfortunate position relative to the explosion. I've since regained 95% of function in my right hand, but only 85% in my left. Although statistically speaking, I've been very fortunate."

"I…I see."

His eyes shifted back to his microscope. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to look for more particulates that Cam may have missed."

Her eyebrows shot up at the abrupt dismissal. "Alright then. I'll see you later, Zack."

In a sad kind of way, she wasn't surprised that he didn't reply.

***

"I don't understand," Brennan protested. "Why can't I go into the interrogation room with Booth?"

Booth shot a pleading glance at Sweets.

"Dr. Brennan," he said, "This is a very, er, _sensitive_ situation. We're afraid that you might upset the suspect."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine. I'll wait out here with Sweets."

Booth smiled. "Thank you, Bones. Alright, Sweets. Do your magic lie-telling trick and let me know if she's hiding something."

"It's not magic, it's psy--"

Booth shut the door behind him. Loudly.

"Ms. Jeannie Whitaker," he said, sitting down. "Nice to see you again."

She smiled at him – far too sweetly to be genuine. "I'm glad one of us is happy."

"So what happened?" Booth continued. "Did you find him with another woman? Was he threatening your chances of winning the _National Art Festival_?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I didn't kill Joseph."

"Really? Because we found blood on your ceramics jar, Jeannie."

He smiled triumphantly.

"Well, I didn't put it there. You know, anyone could have picked up_ any_ jar and murdered him. It could be coincidence."

"Coincidence? That you two happened to be about to compete in the biggest art competition in the nation?"

"Look, Joseph didn't even _want_ to go to that stupid competition. He had straight As, a 2280 on the SATs, more extracurriculars than you could count. He didn't _need_ that competition. The only reason he was going was for Keanes. She couldn't stand the fact that I was going to win, so she put in Joseph to try and stop me."

"Keanes? The _art_ teacher?"

Her eyes hardened into that cold, icy glare that only teenagers could pull off. "Keanes hated me because I embarrassed her in front of the whole class. We had artistic differences. I was going to win the competition, and she couldn't stand that. So she put Joseph in, like Joseph would ever put her above me. Joseph was going to tell her that he was pulling out."

The wall of ice in her eyes cracked, and then crumbled. "He loved me," she said quietly, more to herself than Booth. A few tears began to streak down her face. "And I loved him. Oh my God. Oh my _God_," she said, crying now – a completely different person from the defiant woman who had stormed out of the room a day ago. "_Oh my God_," she repeated.

Sweets shook his head and tapped his microphone. "She's not the murderer," he said.

Booth looked at him through the glass.

"Alright, Jeannie," he said. "You can go now."

She picked up her bag, face streaked with tears and anger – at herself, at Booth, at the world – all the same. "I don't need you to tell me when I can go, _Agent_. I think I already proved that."

***

"Zack kicked me out of the lab," she grumbled, sitting down next to him.

Hodgins couldn't help but snicker. "Why? Did you distract him from his ever so fascinating discoveries?"

"I asked him a personal question. Zack doesn't like personal questions, apparently."

He snorted. "Whatever gave you that idea? What'd you ask him? Ooh – did you call him a virgin? He hates it when people do that."

"Zack is most definitely not a virgin."

Hodgins stared at her. "Oh my God. Did you sleep with him?! _Oh my God. _Wait until Angela gets her hands on this."

"No! I didn't – Hodgins, are you insane?! I didn't sleep with Zack. But I mean, a genius like him, who isn't that bad looking – of course he isn't a virgin!"

"You think he isn't that bad looking."

She glared at him. "I think that _you _aren't that bad looking, but you don't—Hodgins!" she exclaimed, seeing the smirk that rose on his face. "You people are all crazy."

He grinned. "And glad to say it. So what'd you ask him?"

She sighed. "I asked him why his hands are – you know – scarred. He mumbled something about a lab accident and then basically told me to leave him alone."

Hodgins stared at her. "A lab accident."

"Yeah. Were you there? What, did you kill your feet or something?"

"A lab accident."

He glanced at his watch. "It's six, and you know, I have a date. So I'll see you around, Diana."

"Wait – a date?! With _who_?"

He gave a sigh of relief that she'd dropped the subject. "With this girl I met."

"Oh, really?" she said, sarcastic. "I thought you were going on a date with a rodent."

"Ha-ha, Diana, very funny. Her name is Sophie and if it goes well…well, you might actually find out more about her." He winked at her, and then breezed out of the lab.

***

She'd gotten highlights. Jackie had recommended them, actually, but Sophie had denied and denied and denied until Jackie had just dragged her out of the school and _forced _her to get them. Her hair was light anyway – not blonde, but pretty close – and she thought that highlights would've made her look more like a Penthouse model than a schoolteacher.

She was wrong, as usual, and Jackie was right.

She hated it when Jackie was right.

She was a little nervous about what Jack was going to say, but she must have picked out a very appealing shirt, because the second Jack noticed her, his eyes slid straight down to her chest.

"Hi," she said cheerfully.

He didn't look up. "Hello."

She rolled her eyes and tilted his head up with her hand. "Hi, Jack. Nice to see you again!"

He smiled. "I am not as subtle as I think, am I?"

She laughed. "Not quite, no. I like this place, by the way."

He grinned at the familiarity of Wong Foos. _Thank you, Booth, _he thought.

Sid approached them, scrutinized them with narrowed eyes, and then left. Sophie watched him walk away. "Okay, I may just be really outdated here, but wasn't that the part where we were supposed to order?"

He couldn't stop smiling. "No, Sid knows what you want. He knows what I want, too."

She raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "I haven't seen the menu."

"Trust me on this. Sid knows all. I came here with heartburn once, and he gave me some magic potion, and then it was gone. Just gone!"

She simpered at him. "You know, I read once that sometimes just eating something is enough to make heartburn go away."

"Hey," he said. "I'm the scientist here. Let me be stunned by Sid's magical skills. Please."

She laughed. "Whatever you say, _doctor_."

"Hey. Stop flirting and enjoy your meal."

The mood was completely trashed. They both looked up, and Sid set their plates on the table. "Enjoy."

"Yeah," Hodgins muttered. "I was."

"So," Sophie said. "Tell me about – holy shit. This is amazing!"

"I told you."

"Okay, you win this one. So tell me about your work."

He bit into a meatball, and then cringed. "My work isn't exactly table talk. Tell me about yours."

"Alright. I teach tenth grade physics at Bale Academy. I also…I…Yeah, Jack, I just found out that my job description is actually extremely boring."

He laughed. "Are private school kids any different from public school kids?"

She sighed. "They're better behaved, I'd say. I mean, there are the bad eggs, but most people know that they're spending a fortune to be there, so they keep their nose clean and get work done. It's a lot of grading, though. Boy, I can't _wait_ to go home and read fifty papers on the same thing."

He leaned into her far enough for her to breath to catch, and smiled – that self assured, cocky smile he'd so perfected. "You could come home with me," he said, "And do something a _lot _more appealing than grading fifty papers…"

She smiled back at him. "You know, as great as that sounds, I'd really like to keep my job. But you know what, I'll let you take me home. You know, be a gentleman. Plus, it'll give you an opportunity to continue staring at my chest."

***

"You killed him, didn't you, Ms. Keanes?"

She glared at him. Jeannie's glare had been passionate, emotional, filled with whispered secrets and stolen kisses that she would never experience again. Keanes' was cold, calculated. "You have no proof."

Booth shook his head and smiled. "He didn't want to enter the art competition. You hated Jeannie, and she was going to win. And _that_ – that couldn't happen, could it? So you killed him. You know, I'm surprised. Smart woman like you…dumping him in an alleyway? I'm surprised you didn't just turn him into a sculpture. I certainly hope you'll be able to find canvases and pastels in jail."

Keanes continued to glare at him, silent.

He handcuffed her roughly. "Julia Keanes, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice and the murder of Joseph Mohston. You have the right to remain silent and everything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."

He let himself turn around and smile at his partner. She smiled back, that little half-smile Bones did so well, a hint of a smirk tugging at one side of her lips. He led her into the state police car and watched as an officer drove it away. The car faded into the distance and melded into the road, a swirl of sirens and flashing lights and a satisfying sort of victory.

Bones came up behind him. "We got her, Booth."

He could help but notice the way her eyes shone as she spoke. She could pretend to be empirical and rational and scientific, but right then, her eyes betrayed her.

"Yeah," he said. "We did."

***

Okay, that ending was _totally _cheesy, I know, but I couldn't help myself. :)

**REVIEW RESPONSES:**

Firstly, thank you to _everyone_ who reviewed. You guys are the best. And to everyone who favorited and subscribed without reviewing…please? Just one line?

_Greytune:_

"_HODGINS! Aw, he's got a... date? Not quite girlfriend, not quite just friend. Ah, well, good for him. He needs to move on." _

He does. But something tells me that he'll eventually find his way back to Angela…;)

"_*wince* That's not gonna be a good conversation. "Oh, and by the way, I was just realeased from a mental hospital for assisting a cannibalistic serial killer in hiding his victims and steal evidence and I also helped him build a set of teeth he used when he ate people"_

Oh, you know. It happens every day around the Jeffersonian…

"_Ah Hodgins...i've never been so proud!! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it Angela! (oh, that came out quite bitchy, i like her really..honest! LOL)" – Laffers18_

I like Angela too, but seriously, the writers need to find someone for Hodgins. Poor guy.

"_Good for Hodgins! I'm kinda glad that he's getting himself out there again, even though I adore him and Angela as a couple. Update soon! :)" – DreamsofFlying_

Exactly! Maybe this'll make her realize how much she's missing…

"_I totally agree with you! Hodgins has the most GORGEOUS eyes EVER! no exageration whatsver lol__  
__aw! Zack! Diana! i dont know what else to say xD" – Chipmunk169646_

Not as much Zack! Diana! In this chapter, I'm sad to say. But I bet you can't wait until the impending storm once Diana finds out what _really_ happened with Zack's hands…D:

"_Great start! I cant wait to read more! specfically (dunno Ive I spelt that right) more Zack and Diana." – EldestDurk_

Thanks, and I promise you'll get more Zack/Diana. :)

"_I love this story SO MUCH. So that means you have to update. Now.___

_Or else I might die." –Ra'iira The Fiend_

Well we can't have that, can we?


	6. Technicalities

A/N: So this story died, a bit. And I'm really sorry about it and for the people who have favorited it / alerted it and _commented on it _– you guys are AMAZING - , I love you guys all to death and I'm actually going to start writing it again because … because I miss it, and Bones is back, and I've gone through a sudden burst of creativity.

I realize that a lot of the story is … pointless now that Angela and Hodgins are married (!) and expecting a baby (!) but I think I'm going to continue it along the story line it's following now. Which means it's still somewhere in limbo between the beginning of season five and the end of season five – Wendell and Angela are together, etc.

So, yeah. Thanks for reading, and leave me a review telling me what you think!

S

.

Jack Hodgins could not remember the last time he'd dropped a date off at home.

Jack Hodgins could not remember the last time he'd dropped a date off anywhere, period. The last relationship he'd had of any kind was Angela; and God knew that Angela was strong and independent-minded and would insist upon being free-willed and driving herself home and, besides, weren't they just going to end up jumping each other in the car, anyway?

And sure, he'd had his fair share of casual "flings" – more than he'd ever admit to Sophie, in any case. And while those were fun and all, they never really required any kind of dropping off, except for one particularly entendre-esque case that he was not particularly concerned with at the moment.

All this briefly ran through his mind as he drove Sophie to her house, trying to keep up with her random street directions. "Turn here," she'd start, only to inevitably cringe and say: "No, wait – next left. _Next left_-_" _only _after _he'd turned the turn signal on. "Sorry!" she'd say, although considering that by this point she was usually giggling like a schoolgirl, Hodgins doubted it.

"Christ, Sophie," he said, after the sixth near-accident. "Do you drive to your house blindfolded or something?"

She laughed again, and from the corner of his eye he saw her roll her eyes and take a quick, playful glance at him. "I think you're merging your sexual fantasies with my lack of driving skills," she said, and he almost drove into a tree.

.

"Something wrong, Bones?"

She looked at him, and he could see her thinking – something behind her eyes considering whether or whether not to let him in; how much to tell him; who and why and endless answers she'd refrained from questioning and questions she'd refrained from answering.

She glanced down at her hands, and he knew he'd lost this round. "No," she said. "I'm fine."

"Hey," he said, and used all his willpower to keep from looking away from the road. "Hey. We caught the bad guy, Bones! And in ten minutes, we'll be back to the Jeffersonian and we'll be able to tell everyone that we rocked the case, and we can go out to the Founding Fathers like we always do, and celebrate."

"Drinking," Bones said, "Is a deeply traditional – and almost subconscious – means of being social. I, personally, don't see the celebratory nature or necessity in consuming large amounts of alcohol-"

"Bones," he said. He smiled – not because the conversation was particularly amusing, and certainly not because he was enjoying it immensely, but out of the sheer familiarity of it all. "Bones, it's not like we go to the Founding Fathers and all binge. Besides, we have to go tonight – it'd be Diana's first time with the gang."

"We're not a gang," Bones said.

Booth smiled.

.

"Do you want to come in?" Sophie asked.

He knew he should have been back at the Jeffersonian. He knew that Booth and Bones would be back from interviewing the art teacher soon, and once they realized that his "lunch date" had yet to end at 2:00 PM, he was going to have to do some serious explaining. He knew that Diana had probably gotten completely and utterly sick of Zack by this point and was probably wondering why she'd ever assumed he'd found a way to get laid.

And yet:

They had survived the car ride.

Sophie's apartment looked nice.

Sophie looked nice.

So he parked his car in her driveway, and followed her to the front door, and tried not to feel as if he was being let into some enormous secretive world of hers as she turned the key in the front door.

"I have to warn you," she said. "I wasn't really expecting company, so it's kind of a mess."

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "Did you _see _my place?"

"Actually," she said, "I was drunk out of my mind. I'm pretty sure all I saw were some flashing lights and maybe some pretty colors."

Point.

He stepped into her apartment and watched as she tossed her keys carelessly onto the kitchen counter. As apartments went, it was pretty standard – two bedrooms, a room with a TV in it and a laptop, the kitchen, what looked like a mini gym.

The walls were beige all around – he blamed Angela for his knowledge of the shade "beige" – the kitchen clean enough, but with a couple dishes piled in the sink. The bedroom – and he could honestly say he was not surprised – was messier. From where he was, he could see a couple shirts on a chair next to the bed – unmade, of course - ,the dresser-top strewn with random pieces of jewelry.

"Well?" she said, smiling at him.

"It's nice," he said. And he wasn't lying – at all. It _was _nice. It was home-y, and it was Sophie, and it wasn't _too _messy, but it wasn't personality-less, either.

"Yeah?" she said. She took a step toward him, eyes twinkling.

"Well," he said, trying to keep his eyes _away _from her bedroom. "I don't see any random high school papers on Einstein's theory of relativity lying around, so I guess that's good."

"They aren't studying relativity," she said, coupled with another step forward. This was immediately translated by Hodgins' brain into something along the lines of: "Stay a night?", the further translation of which was not hard to figure out.

"Don't you have a murderer to be catching?" she asked.

Jack Hodgins was never very good at priorities.

"Booth and Bones'll be fine without me," he murmured. "Zack and Diana…Zack and Diana will-"

He never got around to finishing his sentence.

.

"Where the hell is Hodgins?" Diana practically shouted. "I swear to God, if he's getting laid right now, I'm going to kill him."

Zack's eyes widened. He was apparently oblivious to the fact that she was yelling more at an imaginary Hodgins than him. "I … I'm not sure," he said. "He just told me he was taking Sophie to Wong Foos!"

She rolled her eyes and smiled at him. "No, I – I'm not … You didn't have to answer that, Zack," she said.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Well, you don't have to be sorry-" she started, but was cut off by the shrill ring of the phone.

"Oh shit," Diana said, and practically leaped across a lab bench to get to it.

"The phone's ringing," Zack said, and watched.

"Hey, Diana?" she heard a familiar voice say. In the background, she could hear Booth whispering something frantically.

_Something about the Founding Fathers? _she thought, and wondered about whether or not they'd already managed to find another case – something about a deceased president, maybe?

"Hey!" she said. "What's up? Are you guys coming back?"

"We solved the case," Brennan said.

"It was _Keanes_?"

Brennan ignored her question. "Booth wants me to tell you and Zack that tonight, to celebrate, we're all going to the Founding Fathers."

"Where?"

"Bar," she heard Booth call in the background. And then: "Oh shit. She's like, fifteen, aren't you?"

She narrowed her eyes at the phone. "_Twenty-_one. I am _twenty-one_. I am _twenty-one_, and _perfectly capable of handling my liquor_. Good God; don't you have Sweets to pick on for this?"

She heard Booth chuckle in the background, coupled with Bones' apprehensive: "She sounds legitimately upset! Booth!" she said again, when he only laughed harder.

Diana rolled her eyes and hung up.

"Well, Zack," she said. "I think we have a party to attend tonight."

.

A/N: Did you guys like it? Tell me what you think :)

S


	7. The Drinking Game

Hooray for new chapters! Anyways, I hope you guys like it – it's wayyy longer than it was supposed to be; I got a tad carried away, haha. Anyways, enjoy, & review – please?

.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring. _

"_Shit," _he swore, sitting up in bed. Beside him, Sophie groaned. "What time is it?" she murmured, and then bolted up as well. "Oh_, shit. _I can't believe we fell – well, shit."

"My cell phone-" Hodgins said, ignoring the fact that he was in a rather obvious state of undress. He climbed out of bed and grabbed the jeans that most definitely should have been on his body – _not _on Sophie's bedroom floor.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring. _

"My seventh period class," Sophie groaned.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring._

"Your seventh period class?" Hodgins said, still trying to locate the proper pocket. "What about _my murder victim_?"

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring._

"Well, shit. What time is it?" she asked again. She climbed out of bed, threw on the clothes she had been wearing before. She briefly contemplated changing, but the kids at school would have undoubtedly been all over that, and she wasn't sure she could take a bunch of high school inquiries – _wrong _inquiries, too – into her love life.

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring. _

"Jesus Christ, Sophie, you need to put a clock in your room!"

_Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring_

"Answer your goddamn cell phone! And while you're at it, _what time is it_?"

"It's 1:45," he said, and then; "Hodgins," in a tone of voice so pleasant and calm and oh-there's-nothing-out-of-the-ordinary-going-on-here-at-all-esque that Sophie had to laugh.

Jack narrowed his eyes at her.

She smiled angelically back – _try that on me when you have pants on_, Jack thought – and then went into the bathroom.

"I. Am. Going. To. _Kill. _You." came the voice over the phone.

"You're not actually going to kill him, are you?" he could hear Zack saying to Sophie. "Because if you did, I would no longer have anywhere to live—"

"No, Zack," Diana said, sounding more and more irritated. "I'm not. I might _cut off a certain body part very dear to him-_" she continued, straight into the phone this time—"But murder? Not my thing."

Zack, evidently appeased, was silent.

"_Diana_!" Hodgins cried. "Oh, boy, what a delight it is to hear your voice again. You have no idea how much I-"

"Yeah, okay," she said. He could practically hear Sophie laughing in the bathroom. "I hope you enjoy being murdered by me as much as much as the sound of my voice, because – oh hell, Hodgins, where are you?"

"Nowhere important," he said evasively. "Just, you know, hanging out."

"Hanging out," Diana repeated flatly.

"Mhmm," he replied, pulling his shirt over his head and trying to put jeans on with one hand. "Yep."

"And are you enjoying your, ahem, _hanging out_?"

Sophie came out of the bathroom, now fully clothed – he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment – and smiled. "_Jack_," she called, loud enough for the phone to pick up and probably for her neighbors to hear (he tried not to think about what else the neighbors had been able to hear that day), "Have you seen my blouse?"

"I am going to _kill _you," he mouthed, glaring at Sophie, who had now effectively dissolved into laughter.

"Sorry," she managed, and even put on a face vaguely reminiscent of seriousness, "I couldn't resist."

"Yeah," he heard Diana say over the phone. "Speaking of things you _couldn't resist-_"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Hodgins said. "No need to finish that thought. Anyways, I'll be in soon. Ish. Soonish."

"'Soonish' is not a word," he could hear Zack saying. "'_Soon'_ is an approximation and _'ish_' is indicative of further approximation-"

"It doesn't even matter," Diana said. "Booth and Brennan solved the case. It was the art teacher, Keanes. Something about artistic differences and this competition – you know, I never _liked _art. Anyhow, we're all meeting at the Founding Fathers tonight at six to celebrate. And drink. Probably mostly drink, but Sweets'll be there, so someone's going to have to chaperone – oh wait, that was mean, wasn't it?"

"You woke me up," Hodgins said, "For _nothing_?"

"Well," Diana said. "If you don't get your ass into work by the time Booth and Brennan get back, you're going to have a lot of questions to answer."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh, hey – they're back. Hey Brennan!" she called.

"What, no hello for me?" he could hear Booth saying.

Sophie was now rummaging around the room, trying to find her school ID. "Jack," she said, "Do you have _any _idea where I put it?"

He debated telling her, and then remembered the blouse debacle. "Nope," he shrugged. "Did you check your pockets?"

_Don't notice_, he prayed. _Don't notice don't notice don't notice don't notice don't notice – _

"Where is Dr. Hodgins?"

_Damn._

"He's 'hanging out'," Diana said cheerfully.

"By 'hanging out', Hodgins means that he was having sex with his girlfriend," Zack supplied helpfully.

He briefly contemplated kicking Zack out of the house.

"Good job, _Hodgins_!" he heard Booth saying, and repressed a grin.

"Wh – _Booth! _Dr. Hodgins, it was very irresponsible and impulsive of you to do that! What if we had needed you to solve the murder?" Brennan said.

"Oh for the love of God," Booth replied, "We did fine on our own, didn't we?"

"Well, what if we _hadn't_?"

"Aren't you the one who told me to focus on reality?"

"Yes, well, _logically_, the percentage of the cases where we've required the efforts of a skilled mineralogist or entomologist have greatly outnumbered those where we haven't. Therefore, _logically_, Hodgins should have stayed at the lab, knowing that we most probably would have needed him today!"

"Yes," Booth said, "but _logically, _we – wait, what?"

"As you can see," Diana said, "You're missing one hell of a party. Oh, look, Angela's on her way."

Hodgins felt his pulse quickening. It wasn't that he was _scared _of Angela finding out that he'd had a lunch time rendezvous with Sophie – I mean, God knew that they had utilized the Egyptian room plenty of times while they were going out – or maybe the problem was that they _had _gone out. Although she certainly had no qualms about flaunting Wendell up and down the Jeffersonian…

"What is this?" she said, and out of all the voices of the lab, hers was the most familiar, the safest. "Are we having a pre-party?"

"Actually," Diana said, "We're pretty much all yelling at Hodgins for ditching work and the unfortunate murder victim to go have sex with his girlfriend. Except for Booth, who's congratulating him."

"Go ahead," Hodgins said, now annoyed, "Just tell everyone. Shout it from the rooftops of the Jeffersonian. Not that I'd, you know, _mind _or anything."

Diana sighed. "Sorry, Hodgins," she said.

But the damage was done. "Hey, I've got an idea," Angela said, "Bring her to the party tonight!"

Sophie's eyes widened. "_No_," she whispered. "Absolutely not. Can you imagine how awkward that would be?"

"She'd love to come," Hodgins said smoothly.

"Sweet," Angela said. "Anyways, I'm going to go home and get ready. See you later tonight, guys."

"Yeah," Diana said. "My purpose as a messenger is effectively done. See you tonight, Hodgins," she said. and then hung up.

Sophie glared at him. "I hate you."

"Is that right?"

"I really, really hate you."

"Should've thought twice about telling everyone we'd had sex, now, huh? Oh, and you're ID's on the dresser, under my wallet. And come on – it won't be _that _awkward! I mean, so what if they know that just a couple hours ago, we were, ahem, 'hanging out'? My coworkers are mature!"

"I am never having sex with you again." She got up, walked to the dresser, and snapped her ID onto her skirt.

"That," he said, and walked over to her. He slipped his arms around her waist and leaned in. "Is the biggest lie you've told me yet," he said, huskily, into her ear.

She closed her eyes. _Newton's laws. Gravitational force. Components of vectors. _

"I have to go," she managed, and made absolutely no effort to move.

"Go where?" his hand slipped under the edge of her blouse.

She pushed him away. "No. _No._ I have to go teach. I have to go teach my seventh period class at Bale Academy. I have to go teach my seventh period class at Bale Academy about the acceleration of an object when placed on an incline of - " she broke off, seeing the look of complete amusement on his face.

"You are awful."

He laughed. "Come on. I'll drive you there."

.

They were all late.

Hodgins and Sophie were probably having sex in the backseat of their car or something, undoubtedly much to the chagrin of Zack (if he was even perceptive enough to notice); Wendell and Angela…well, they were either doing the same or Angela had been distracted by a sudden burst of _inspiration _as artists always seemed to be. Meanwhile, Booth and Brennan had either suddenly discovered their _obvious _love for each other or … gotten distracted by a murder.

The usual.

Which left Diana and Sweets sitting awkwardly at the bar.

"So," Sweets began. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," she said. "Alright. Better. Ish."

He laughed. "How are things with Zack?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know, everyone keeps asking me that. As if me and Zack actually have a _thing _– which, let me tell you, is certainly not the case. However, the completely and _beautifully_ platonic _thing _we have is going pretty weirdly right now."

He beckoned over a bartender. "Forget it," he said, "They're fifteen minutes late, which officially gives us the right to start without them."

Diana smirked. "Alright, then."

The smirk disappeared a second later when Sweets and her were both asked if they were above the legal drinking age.

"Oh for the love of God," she said, taking out her license. "I can't believe I'm allowed to work on government classified projects without a second glance but have to prove my age to get a martini."

Sweets rolled his eyes. "Anyways," he said, taking a sip of his drink. "What do you mean by weird?"

"Ever since I asked him about his hands…" she murmured.

Sweets choked on his drink. "Excuse me?"

She smirked at him, oblivious. "You sure you don't want to start with something less potent there, Sweets?"

He shook his head. "No, continue."

"No – I just. I don't know. I asked him about why there were scars on his hands and he mentioned a lab blowup experiment gone wrong type ordeal and he was being really evasive about it. I think we're back to normal now, but it's still strange."

"I see."

A pause.

"Okay, now _you're _acting strange. Is there something going on here that I don't know ab-"

"Sweets! Diana! See, Bones? We're not late – it's just the two of them here. How's it going?" Booth said, practically dragging Brennan into the bar. It was the first time Diana had seen them out of work clothes – Booth in a tee and jeans, Brennan dressed down but still polished. "Yeah, I'll have an apple martini, and one for my partner here as well," he said.

"I really don't think this is a good idea," Brennan protested. "The last time this happened Angela Xeroxed photos of her butt and sent them to … to … to everyone."

"What's this about Angela?" a voice behind them said. Angela smirked at them knowingly. "And that was a onetime thing, Brennan. I have learned my lesson." She was wearing a dress to kill: bold red, it contrasted her hair and eyes. Wendell stood beside her, that slightly dazed-but-good-natured look he always had on his face replaced with laughter.

"I feel underdressed," Diana said.

Angela laughed. "More like _over_dressed," she said. "But it's cute. The shirt is cute. The fringe is cute. The jeans are cute. I like it," she decided, and Diana blushed.

"Jesus," Booth said. "What, are we just going to stand around and compliment each other's outfits? Where's Hodgins? I'm sure he looks absolutely dashing tonight. Here, Bones," he said, handing her her martini.

"Speak of the devil," Wendell said, and everyone turned around. Hodgins and Sophie walked in, and even Booth had to admit: they were a good looking couple. He had her arm around her waist and they looked … comfortable. With themselves. With each other.

Zack, behind them, looked almost out of place. He tucked a nonexistent piece of hair behind his ear, and then walked over to sit next to Diana.

"How awkward," Diana whispered, "Was the car ride?"

She swore she almost saw him smile.

Hodgins turned to whisper something in her ear and she blushed, shaking her head. "Hi guys," she said, smiling. "I'm Sophie."

She needn't have worried.

They were friendly – friendlier than she would have imagined a group of crime-fighting murder-investigating criminal-capturing group of geniuses to be. In hindsight, she probably should have expected it based on Hodgins' … _friendliness_, but she was still mildly surprised by the lack of uncomfortable-ness about it all. Not only that, but that they were … they were just normal people. Even Brennan, who occasionally made a remark that shut everyone up and made them just _stare _at her ("What?", she'd say, not understanding what she'd done wrong), seemed comfortable, at home.

Except Zack.

Zack was a different story altogether.

During the carried there, she'd tried to make conversation. Granted, it was hard after the comment Hodgins made ("We're not gay together, I promise. He's just a friend who's staying at my place."), but she _tried_. Eventually she'd just accepted the fact that he was a shy kid who she was going to have to get to know slowly. This seemed to apply to everyone else as well – except Diana. He seemed to like her, strangely enough.

So Sophie got comfortable. Hodgins joked around with Booth and Brennan about anthropological contradictions. They ordered drinks. They made fun of Sweets' age. They made fun of Diana's age. They ordered another round. Zack stuttered over being "uncomfortable" with the amount of alcohol being consumed. Brennan laughing hysterically at nothing in particular.

Hodgins' hand, under the table, inched higher and higher up her leg every five minutes.

Eventually, though, the memories got fuzzier. The group began to disband – not back to their houses, but into groups. Angela and Wendell ran off somewhere, and then Booth and Brennan were gone, and then Diana finally saved Zack from having to have _another _drink. Sweets, apparently, had a crisis with one of his patients – he mumbled something about mental wards and how sober he was and then all of a sudden, she and Jack were alone.

.

"I want another drink," Bones demanded.

"I think you've had enough, Bones," Booth said – a mixture of amusement and concern in his voice. Whatever Bones' alcohol tolerance was, it clearly wasn't high.

"Oh, come on, Booth, just one more?"

"I'm not stopping you," he said, but if she'd made a move to get up and order another one, he probably would have. As it turned out, he didn't even have to – she seemed to be content sitting right where she was.

Next to him.

It occurred to him in an ironic flash – there and gone – that the only time he could say that was when she was utterly intoxicated.

"Anthropologically speaking," she started, slurring the words slightly, and Booth smiled to himself, "Hodgins and Sophie will be a very successful couple."

He nodded and tried to tally up the number of drinks she'd had. "Will they?"

"Hodgins is very successful with women – all women, it seems – and Sophie has many indicators of fertility."

Booth tried not to laugh. "Have you been checking out Hodgins' girlfriend, Bones?"

She turned to him, confused. "I don't know what that means." She paused, and then continued. "Tonight's behavior has been very socially stereotypical."

"On whose part?" Booth asked, but she ignored him and continued talking.

"Hodgins was very protective of Sophie. He is obviously trying to demonstrate that he has qualities of an alpha male. Zack went with the person he is most comfortable with – Diana, and she didn't protest. That might explain why he is so comfortable with her. Angela and Wendell … I believe there is something strange going on between them. Angela won't look at me anymore when I bring him up."

Booth had tried – for years, now – to keep out of the entirely mundane and yet vaguely messy interpersonal relationships of the squints, but he had to admit – they were at least a little interesting.

"…you taught me that," Brennan concluded, and Booth looked up.

"I taught you what?"

"That when someone doesn't look at you, it means they have something to hide."

He couldn't help but smile. "I taught you that?"

She put her head in her hands and massaged away at an invisible headache. "You've taught me a lot of things," she mumbled.

He didn't know what to do with his hands. He should have put one on her shoulder. Reassured her. But that would have been forward, or not forward enough, or she wouldn't have noticed, and nothing was right, and she was too intoxicated and he was far, far too sober.

"How many drinks did you have tonight, Bones?" he asked her, instead of what he wanted to ask, which was: _why did you have so many drinks tonight, Bones?_

"Acouple," she mumbled, one word. She rested her head on his shoulder, blue eyes unfocused, blinking.

"Are you sure?" He hadn't been counting, but it sure looked like she'd had a hell of a lot more than _a couple. _

"I'm glad we solved the murder," she said.

"I'm glad we solved the murder, too," he replied, and that seemed to be enough for her. They drifted into another few moments of pensive silence.

"You know," she said, and he couldn't figure out whether she was speaking more to him or to his shoulder to herself, "anthropologically speaking, we would…"

The rest of her sentence was indecipherable.

.

"I think," she said, her voice filled with amusement. "We are the only sober ones at this party."

"Party indicates a gathering of three or more people. Seeing as we have all disbanded into groups of less than three, this no longer can be classified as a party."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for that, Zack."

"Thanks for what?"

"Okay, never mind. It's nice out. Let's go outside."

"It's _dark _out, Diana! I'm not sure this is a very good idea -"

She turned around, grabbed his hand. "Hey. Adventures. Let's have one."

He wanted to say: _'tdealwellwithdanger._

He wanted to say: _._

He wanted to say: _there'shodginslet''llcomewithus._

But Diana was smiling at him, and her eyes were green that day, and it was a safe town, and Hodgins would be proud of him if he went and say something like 'good job, Zack', in that proud, accomplished tone of voice. And then maybe Dr. Sweets would stop looking at him like he always did and he would be able to stop justifying his actions. And then maybe he wouldn't have to tell Diana about everything he'd done wrong.

So he let her pull him out of the bar and onto the street, into a cold burst of air. He saw a busy street; she saw endless possibilities. He saw harassed people making their way home; she saw families waiting on the other end. He saw her; she saw everyone else.

"Where d'you want to go?" she asked him, that same air of excitement about her.

It made him smile.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't have my telescope but there's a place I like to go to look at stars and observe planetary motion and I think you would like it because you like things like that that you don't really understand but make you feel small and wonderful and happy so I guess I could take you there, if you want, maybe."

He bit his lip.

"Yeah," she said, softly. "Yeah. Yeah, let's do that. I'll drive, since I don't think you can steal Hodgins' car."

"He has seventeen others," Zack supplied. "Not counting the antiques."

"Excuse me?" she said, leading him to a white Toyota. He got in the passenger seat – "I don't drive", and not a single question on her part – and she turned the ignition on.

"Hodgins is rich."

"Ah."

"He's the sole owner of the Cantilever group."

"I see."

"Which makes him very rich."

"So I can imagine. Well, I can't, really, but I can try."

"Hodgins is kind to me. He makes fun of me a lot but I think he means well."

"He does," she said, that same soft, quiet tone, and then: "Where to?"

He gave her directions and she drove in silence.

.

"Angela, we can't do this," were the first words out of his mouth when they were alone.

She blinked. "Wendell, no one's going to come by, alright? I'm pretty sure we're the only two people within a hundred miles of this place." She traced a nonsensicle pattern down his arm. "Alright?"

He took one step back and two breaths. "No, that's not what I meant."

She blinked at him, and then she, too, took a step back. "What did you mean, Wendell?"

"Angela." he said, nothing more – her name, a sentence within itself. "Angela."

She laughed. "Wendell," she said, using that same abrasive, forthcoming tone of voice, and he would have scrapped the entire plan and just made love to her right there had it not been for the fact that he knew he had to do this.

"Angela," he said, "I don't get involved with coworkers."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You _are _involved with a coworker."

He exhaled sharply. "Right. I know. And that's … that's … I don't know how or why this happened, Angela. I don't even know what _this _is. I know that you're beautiful and wonderful and a great artist and a great person and gorgeous – wait, I think I said that already – but you're also my coworker. And my friend. And you and Hodgins still aren't the same after your breakup and I don't want that to happen to us."

It was one of those rare occasions where Angela Montenegro had nothing to say.

"Well," she said, shakily. "That's the first time anyone's broken up with me for being too good a friend."

He smiled, a little sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be." She sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him one last time, and then pulled away. "It's been fun, Wendell Bray," she said. "You're lucky, you know."

He rolled his eyes, but did what she wanted him to. "Why?" he asked.

"I'm sober enough to drive myself home," came the reply, and they both knew things would be alright.

.

And that's it! Anyways, that's pretty much the longest chapter I've ever written, but I hope you guys enjoyed it. And please review! Only like, two people reviewed last time and that made me really sad. I spent like a bajillion hours on this and would really love to know what you guys think.

So anyways, review replies:

Ra'iira The Fiend: More Zack/Diana! And and and... this WILL end up as a Hodgela, right? I mean,  
Sophie's cool and everything, but... Hodgela... _

Yes. There will be muchos more Zack / Diana. I mean, this chapter I think was a decent amount of Zack/Diana, but next chapter will be the scene where they look at stars, which would be way too disgustingly corny for me if it wasn't _Zack_. And yes, Hodgins and Angela will get together, I _promise. _It just might take a few chapters, is all. Anyways, thanks for reviewing! :)

S


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